


In The End, We Come Right Back

by PumpkinWrites



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: After the Heist, Aggression, Anger, Angst, Emotions, Florida is a terrifying man, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned Florida/Wyoming, Pre-Sigma, Project Freelancer, References to Canon violence, The only way to fight the Director is to gang up on him, The season 9 trailer is only kind of canon, Wash has a temper, Wash has cat tattoos, You like Agent Maine don't you Wash?, mentioned Yorkalina
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-04-22 10:06:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14306379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinWrites/pseuds/PumpkinWrites
Summary: They'd seen Maine get back up after taking massive amounts of damage. And every time, he would get up and keep swinging, rush his opponents like an angry bull, shrug off the pain like it was nothing. This was Maine. Hulking, indestructible Maine. Maine with god-tier endurance and an adamantine skull. Maine with the strength of, according to Agent Pennsylvania, about twenty-three bears, give or take a bear or two. Maine, who was both the unstoppable force and the immovable object.But Maine didn't get up.





	1. Chapter 1

_"Jesus Christ... Jesus Christ!"_

_"Oh god..."_

_"Someone get their BioCom up, check his vitals!"_

_"We need a MED/EVAC, now! Why did we even land?!"_

_"Waiting on the other Pelican, that's your MED/EVAC."_

The youngest Freelancer had been frozen in place as the others rushed the body, something that he was sure that he'd have to answer for at some point. He'd served with the UNSC before joining the program: freezing up like that had not been acceptable there either. It was just far more intolerable here. He was sure that there was some serious punishment coming his way, the fact that he had been the one to secure the Sarcophagus in the Pelican, with Texas' help be absolutely damned.

They were all military, all of them, to at least one degree or another. If not before Project Freelancer, then definitely now because of it. They'd all seen a fallen soldier before, more than once at this point. It came with the job. That was war: not everyone made it back. People got hurt. People died. Sometimes, those people were people you knew and cared about. That wasn't shocking to them, at least, it shouldn't have been.

What was shocking, terrifying, even, was that it was...

_"MAINE!"_

Maine.

Big, bulky, brutal Maine.

Just... laying there.

His partner would never admit it aloud, but while the shock had been digging into his bones and freezing him in place, he had found himself expecting the behemoth to smack his fist hard against the pavement in frustration and clamber up, just like always.

This was _Maine_. Hulking, indestructible Maine. Maine with god-tier endurance and an adamantine skull. Maine with the strength of, according to Agent Pennsylvania, about twenty-three bears, give or take a bear or two. Maine, who was both the unstoppable force and the immovable object.

But, Maine didn't get up. He didn't move. He didn't even seem to _breathe_.

_"Agent Washington, if you are not wounded, get out of the way."_

_"No! I-I'm not leaving him!"_

_"Agent that is a direct order--"_

_"Director, please. I've seen him treat bullet wounds before, he can probably help..."_

_"... Agent Washington, you may assist where necessary. I may need the extra set of hands."_

He had finally been forced away from the observation window by the Director himself after upwards of three hours of standing there like a sentry, watching down into the operating room. Anyone who walked past him could practically feel the anxiety coming off of him in waves, and apparently, there had been complaints from nurses, doctors, and other various station staff.

Gray helmet sat discarded, thrown against the wall behind the bench so that its visor stared blankly upward at the ceiling. Gloved hands hid a tired face from view as it rested in them. Fingers pushed into spiky blond hair, freed from armor for so long and messed up so many times that by now it had returned back to its usual volume. He shifted, fingers tensing and pulling at his hair, but he was too numb to feel it.

_"Can't you stablize him?"_

_"We're doing our best sir."_

_"Is there something I can do?"_

It just... hadn't seemed real. Maine could survive _anything_. They'd seen him get back up after taking massive, unthinkable amounts of damage. He'd been put through walls, shot, run over, and blown up. And every time, he would get up and keep swinging, rush his opponents like an angry bull, shrug off the pain like it was nothing. But there he'd been, laying in a shallow crater, his massive form still against destroyed pavement.

The noise was still echoing in his ears. Carolina shouting for someone with medical skills to get to work, York and North shouting over the radios, the first Pelican idling and the second landing, the Director barking orders at every agent individually, the deafening lack of identifiable noise that had come when the bay door of the second Pelican closed and sealed the Director, the patient, and the young soldier into relative dimness. And, louder than them all, his own scream of his partner's name.

"Hey, Wash."

He didn't look at Carolina. Or at the other two agents that he heard come to a stop behind her, several feet in front of him. He guessed that it was probably York and North: Florida and CT would be in with Wyoming. After a moment, one of the back sets of footsteps came closer to him, and something was set down beside him on the bench. Someone sat down next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"... I got him, guys. You go back and sit with Wyoming. The Director already talked to me and CT," North said finally, voice louder in his ear.

Carolina and the other Freelancer hesitated, the teal-armored agent speaking up. "Are you sure?"

It was... strange, really, to hear Carolina sound so soft. In a way, she sort of reminded him of the Director: stern, no-nonsense. Brutal, but in the most stealthy of ways. Not as brutal as Maine, but then, Maine would break someone's bones for looking at him the wrong way. Carolina would just make a mental note to wipe the floor with them faster in their next sparring session.

"Yeah," North insisted. "Go on, before Florida starts singing to him."

After a long moment of silence, Carolina and the other agent left. North spoke again once they were gone, his voice even and comforting. "... hey Wash? You with me, buddy?"

The quiet man just shifted, pulling his hands further down his face and uncovering his eyes. His vision was blurry from their being closed and covered for so long, but it mostly cleared up after a few hard blinks.

North withdrew his hand from the younger man's shoulder, leaning on the bench. "... it's gonna be okay. Maine... he's had a lot worse."

"... he was shot ten times," he finally monotoned. "Ten times. In the throat and chest."

"Hey, Maine's been shot before. We've all been shot before--"

"And then," he continued, speaking louder, "he got hit by a truck. Sent him flying off an overpass. He bounced off of another car and hit the pavement hard enough to break it. He sat there bleeding until we got to him. He could've survived one of those, but not all of it. Not all at once."

"Hey, sometimes miracles happen, Wash."

"There was... there was so much blood... and the medic said even if he survives, he'll probably never talk again."

"Yeah, that's really gonna bother _Maine_."

This second statement went unacknowledged. "The Director told me that they found him by something called a 'recovery beacon.' I guess it's a device in our suits, supposed to make sure our armor doesn't fall into enemy hands. 'A dead or dying agent's beacon automatically notifies our recovery team, and we will be on the scene immediately.' That's what he said."

"See? At least they found--"

"Dead or dying, North. Maine's vitals were registering as dead. Or. Dying."

His hands dropped away from his face in fists as thoughts of Maine lying lifeless on the pavement bubbled back to the surface of his mind. The cold numbness ripped away suddenly, almost violently, his body now feeling as though filled with thorns and sparks. His whole frame shook as panic and emotion tore through him, claws closing tight around his lungs and squeezing. Everything felt hazy again, like he was lightheaded and winded. He couldn't breathe. His ears started to ring. That horrible, horrible image of his partner--his friend--motionless against broken pavement burned across the backs of his eyelids when he closed them. The echoes of the others' voices grew louder with the ringing in his ears, overlapping and losing all traces of clarity in the process as he gasped for breath.

"Hey. Hey, hey, hey, Wash, calm down, it's gonna be okay--"

North's mistake was putting his hand back on the other's shoulder. The second he registered that it had happened, the young soldier was on his feet, fingers curled around the edges of North's chestplate and holding tight. He yanked North up and shoved him back against the wall with enough force that it knocked the wind out of the taller man.

"Shut. Up."

The voice that left him was hardly his own. At least... it didn't sound like his own. And it didn't feel like he'd spoken. The sound that spat past his curled lips and bared teeth was little more than a growl, the thorns forcing their way out and falling off his tongue.

North held up his hands in something like surrender, saying nothing and not moving to shove his comrade off or even fight back. There was mostly no fear in his face, but the younger man could see it in his wide eyes. And he could see his own face reflected in them: his cheeks streaked with tears.

It had been years, _years_ , since he'd last cried.

And it had been even longer since he'd last looked like that. Expression blank while tears streamed down his face and anger burned behind his eyes. The last time he'd looked like that, he'd just put another ten-year-old's face through a mirror in an elementary school boys' bathroom.

He let go of North after a moment, turning away from him and looking at the ground. His hands were still balled tight into fists. "... I'm... sorry."

"... I can't imagine what's going on in your head right now, Wash," North finally responded. "... I don't know that I'd keep it together at all if that was South down there."

He blinked hard to banish the remaining tears, and the burning, traitorous memory of that horribly blank face reflected back at him in the spiderweb shards of a broken bathroom mirror. North's words made him instead raise his hands to swipe at his eyes, turning back to face him with a slightly-confused expression.

"... Maine isn't my twin, though, North."

"No, he's not. But you love him. More than you'd love a sibling."

He froze. No one had seemed to notice anything before, and as far as he knew, Carolina and the others just thought that he and Maine were close because they were partners. They were bunkmates. He sat next to or across from Maine at meals. When they had to spar, for training, Maine didn't send him to the infirmary, and didn't even seem to be trying to do so.

"... what makes you say that?"

"Well, the main tip-off is kinda the fact that you hang onto him like York hangs onto Carolina. I figured it out pretty quick. I think Pennsylvania and Massachusetts have their suspicions, but they aren't talking. Pretty sure Florida knows, though."

His head snapped up, face pale. "How does _Florida_ know?"

"Because Florida's had it real bad for Wyoming since they met. He says his... what's it called, 'gaydar?' He says his is pretty good."

"Apparently it's not, since I'm not gay."

"... is there... like, something I should know about Maine...?"

"What?"

"I mean like... wait, that's like 'outing' him or something, right?"

"... I mean you outed Florida too, so..."

"Florida's been out since he got here, but I uh... I see your point. Just forget I asked, that was... yeah I shouldn't have--"

"Wh... no I... no, just--look that... that doesn't matter. Yes, I... I-I really, really, _really_ care about Maine. Like a lot. And... in his own way I think he cares about me too."

"He certainly seems to like you better than he likes any of us, for what that's worth."

"Well, yeah. I share my snacks." He looked away again. "... I don't know what I'll do if he doesn't pull through, North."

"He will pull through. Maine's tough." North turned, reaching down to pick up both of their discarded helmets from the floor. "Plus, he'd never leave you behind."

"... yeah, I guess you're right. He'd probably throw me if he found out I thought he was gonna die."

"Nah, I don't think he'd throw you. Maybe he'd headbutt you into a wall, but he wouldn't throw you." North straightened up, a helmet in each hand and a kind smile on his face. "... when's the last time you ate? Before the mission?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Eh, I didn't really think you were, but you're no good to Maine or anyone else if you're starving yourself to death." He held out the gray helmet to its owner. "At least let me get you some coffee, huh? Then I can wait around with you until he's out of surgery."

The younger man accepted the helmet back, tucking it under his arm. "... hot chocolate?"

"Hot chocolate it is, champ."


	2. Chapter 2

"... the _Mother of Invention_ has all kinds of information in the library, right? Not just military and history?"

The older blond glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, setting his coffee down. "... I think so. Why?"

Washington looked down into his cup. He'd already drained it once, and he was almost done with this one again. "... I want to try to learn some sign language. I know a little bit already, I tried to learn when I was a kid, but I want to try to learn a little more. Teach some to Maine while he's recovering. I can teach him to spell, and count to like ten, but after that, not a lot I can do. I think Florida was talking about knowing sign language awhile ago, maybe he can help out a little."

"I think that's a great idea, Wash," North nodded. "And I think Maine will too."

"... I know it won't be any replacement for Maine's voice, but..."

"I think he'll appreciate being able to communicate with someone. It might help him, even though he doesn't say much to start with."

"... maybe not to you guys," Wash mumbled, swirling his hot chocolate. "You just have to know how to understand him. He said... he _says_ plenty to me."

"Well, yeah, you guys are bunkmates. You see more of him than anyone else. You probably have deep conversations about life or punching Wyoming at three in the morning. I mean, South and I do, anyway." North sipped his coffee. He tilted his head to look around Wash, and raised his cup in greeting. "Hey Carolina."

The teal-armored Freelancer made a noise in response to North's greeting as she walked around the table to sit next to him. She unhooked her helmet and removed it, setting it down on the table like the others. She looked tired, the youngest agent noticed. Clearly, the older blond noticed as well, as he immediately got up and wandered away, only to return with two more cups.

"So boss, anything to report?" North asked, handing a coffee to Carolina and another hot chocolate to Wash. "The Director debrief you yet?"

"Yes. He's talked to me, you, York, and CT." Carolina took an inhumanly-long drink from her cup before putting it down and folding her hands. "... Wyoming's awake. He'll be in Recovery for a few days getting the blood pumped back into him, but he'll be fine. York's got some pretty bad whiplash that they're checking out now. CT has a few cuts and bruises, but she'll be okay."

"What about Maine?" Wash asked instantly, thoughts beginning to turn back toward panic when he realized that Carolina hadn't mentioned him. And that there was probably a reason for it.

Carolina looked at him, and he withered a little under the burning of those green eyes, turning his own gaze down and away as he put his cup down and twisted his hands together in his lap. However, after a moment, the squad leader did answer his question.

"... Maine was shot ten times, nine at point-blank range, and kept fighting. He lost a lot of blood. Not to mention, he was tossed off a truck at high speed, bounced across several lanes of traffic, before getting hit by a bus and knocked off an overpass. No one could survive that."

Wash's mouth had gone dry as Carolina re-described Maine's injuries. He _knew_. He was _aware._ He took a shaky sip of his hot chocolate, partially to hide his fear and partially in an attempt to keep his tongue from shiveling up. He couldn't blame her for explaining, though, she probably didn't exactly know that North knew. However, at the last thing she said, he swore he felt his heart stop. Had Maine...? No, surely he would've been notified, he was Maine's partner after all...

"Those injuries would have killed anyone else," Carolina continued. She took another drink of her coffee, finally looking at Wash. "... so I guess we're lucky it happened to Maine."

Wash felt his blood boil, anger rising up from where it had retreated into his gut. Carolina went on to explain that Maine was still in surgery, but the current report was that he would recover. She informed them most of the wounded would probably be back on the _M.O.I._ tonight, including Maine, if nothing went catastrophically wrong in surgery. But all Wash could hear was Carolina's tone sounding far too chipped and businesslike. Didn't she _care_ that one of her squad members had almost died?

After she finished speaking, there was a heavy pause. North made some comment or other, and when Carolina gave a laugh in response, Wash's temper ran out once again. It took him a moment, but he finally spoke into his cup, his voice small and forced. "... 'we're' lucky?"

"Huh?"

 _"We're_ lucky?!" he shouted, slamming his cup down. _"No one_ is lucky here, Carolina! _We're_ not lucky, _the project_ isn't lucky, the only person who's _maybe_ lucky here is _Maine,_ and I think that's really for _him_ to decide!"

Carolina and North were silent, Carolina actually looking a little shocked while North merely set down his coffee cup. He likely wouldn't hesitate to keep Wash from attacking Carolina out of anger, by any means necessary, now that he knew that it was possible. He may have agreed not to mention the incident to any of their superiors, but if Wash assaulted Carolina, one of those superiors, technically, that promise would probably have to go right out the window. However, his caution proved unnecessary when Wash merely crumpled inward on himself, folding his arms on the tabletop and putting his head down on them.

A long, quiet moment passed, before Carolina spoke again. "... I know how you must feel. It's... scary, when your partner gets hurt like that."

"Don't patronize me, Carolina. It's fucking terrifying," Wash shot back bluntly, voice muffled by the table when he didn't bother to raise his head. "Don't pretend you just saw Maine laying there and you weren't scared shitless. Because if fucking _Maine_ dying on the pavement doesn't scare you, you're not fucking human."

North reached across the table, placing a hand cautiously on Wash's elbow. "Of course it scared us."

"I wasn't talking to you."

"... he's right."

Wash's head snapped up, startling North enough that he pulled his hand away. He had never heard Carolina sound that way. So... upset. Even teary. Green eyes turned down and away from the men around her, as if she just... couldn't look at them. Her gaze was fixed on her hands, folded in her lap.

"... Maine took a bullet for me. The shot to his chest, that was a sniper that got past me. It was enough to knock Maine down for about forty seconds. We think it was heading right for my spine, and if it had hit me, I could have been paralyzed. After I called him a baby and pushed him out a window."

"Maine would never complain about taking a bullet for someone," North reminded her. "He does it all the time. And he knows any of us would do the same for him."

"I could have knocked Maine off course when we were thrown off of the truck, maybe helped him stay out of traffic. At least maybe he wouldn't have gone off the overpass."

"You can't possibly have controlled that."

Carolina finally turned her eyes up, then turned her head almost robotically to lock them onto North's. Wash noticed that they no longer seemed to burn in their sockets: on the contrary, they seemed blank. Detached. When she spoke again, there was no emotion in her voice. As if she had simply shut her heart off. "I let that soldier throw her gun to the man who shot Maine's throat out."

Anger began to leech into Wash's blood again, coursing through his veins and oozing into every fiber of his being. Someone with Carolina's skill should have easily been able to prevent what had happened, and what made it worse was that she _prided_ herself on her apparent-flawlessness. On being he very model of a warrior. Being _perfection incarnate._

However, Carolina's voice halted the building anger before it could erupt again. "... Maine nearly died because of me. A sniper shot him in the chest instead of shooting me in the back. And I couldn't stop him getting shot in the throat."

"Carolina, don't say that," North started.

"Why not. It's true. Maine will probably never be the same after this."

"You didn't shoot Maine. You never laid a hand on the gun that did this to Maine."

"It doesn't matter if I pulled the trigger or not!" Carolina's voice broke alongside her composure, tears beginning to leak from her eyes and slide down her face to vanish from sight beneath her chin. "... I was the team leader. It was my responsibility to ensure the safety of my squad, and I failed. Arguably, I failed all of them."

"Failure is certainly an appropriate word, Agent Carolina," a new voice drawled from just out of their lines of sight.

The sound of it was enough to send all three Freelancers scrambling to their feet. They stood at attention, Carolina's cheeks still wet with tears, as the Director came more clearly into view. He had changed gout of the borrowed station scrubs, and had replaced his sunglasses on his face. 

"The objective was, however, completed. No lives were lost, although two of your comrades were severely injured. Your failure, Agent Carolina, lies in your inability to remain objective about battlefield casualties. Are you going to blame yourself for Agent Wyoming's injuries as well?"

"Sir, she had more direct contact with Maine," Wash began, as respectfully as he could manage, though he was starting to get angry again. "It makes sense that she would feel responsible for--"

"I did not _ask_ for _your opinion,_ Agent Washington," the Director barked. "Agent Carolina, this is behavior does not suit a soldier of your ranking. You will collect yourself and report to the docking bay to board a dropship back to the _Mother of Invention._ Agents North Dakota and Washington, the same goes for you two. Agent York will meet you there, and Agent Florida will be the one flying you back. We need our better pilot on-hand at the moment."

Wash clenched his fists, but didn't dare to argue. He didn't want to think about the consequences just now. But, Carolina's voice surprised him yet again. "... sir, I believe it to be in the best interest of all involved that Agent Washington be allowed to remain with his partner, to keep him calm."

"And why would I allow that, Carolina?"

"... Agent Maine will undoubtedly require a few more blood transfusions after his surgery, and probably intravenous painkillers."

"Your point?"

"Agent Washington can explain."

When both the Director and Carolina looked at the gray-armored young man, he felt his blood freeze. He made a noise in the back of his throat, but then squared his shoulders a little more and cleared it to disguise the fact that he'd almost used his partner's real name. "... Maine doesn't react well to needles, sir. And IVs are kind of the worst. The Counselor can tell you why he doesn't like them."

"This is a civilian outfit, sir," Carolina picked up. "The staff would not be equipped to handle Maine if he acted out. And only Agent Washington has shown consistent ability to calm Maine down if he becomes agitated or enraged."

The Director stared silently at Carolina for a long, long minute. His jaw set, and Wash swore he could hear the man's bones crack. He straightened up, sweeping a look down the short line of soldiers in front of him and lingering briefly on North, as if silently daring him to add to the conversation. When North said nothing, the Director continued to speak.

"... arguing with a superior does not suit a soldier of your caliber, Agent Carolina. And it does not suit a soldier in general, Agent Washington, but you know all about that." He adjusted his sunglasses. "The wounded are being prepared for transfer as we speak. Agent Maine will be kept sedated in order to be relocated back to the _Mother of Invention._ Despite the issues we've just had here, Agent Washington will be waiting in Recovery One for his arrival. Now, all three of you, get back in uniform and report to the docking bay this instant. _That is an order."_


	3. Chapter 3

Recovery One was decidedly the worst of the Recovery bays to be placed in. It was the most heavily-monitored, as the most critical injuries and those just out of very major surgery were set up in there. The whole bay felt like the waiting room for a morgue. There were actually drains in the floor for the explicit purpose of quickly cleaning blood and other fluids away.

Despite the arguments with the Director, Wash was, as ordered, sitting right beside the massive, unconscious form of his bunkmate and partner. He was, for the first time in a couple days now, out of armor completely, freckled shoulders and tattooed arms exposed by a faded gray UNSC tank top. He hadn't showered yet, but he had dumped half a bottle of water over his head to freshen his hair up a little bit. If he got too grungy-looking, he was sure the staff would probably kick him out until he cleaned up.

Maine had looked a lot less like garbage than before once they finally settled him into a cot in Recovery. Thanks to the QuikClot gauze the medical team had been provided through their partnership with the UNSC, Maine's bleeding seemed to have stopped entirely by now, though his next few bandage changes would have to be combat gauze just to ensure that the bleeding was actually stopped. He still wouldn't be happy to see the needle in his hand when he woke up, but Wash could deal with that later, when Maine woke up.

 _If_ Maine woke up.

The bleeding was stopped, there was very little chance that bleeding could kill him now, and his injuries were being covered and kept clean. But, some of the staff was reluctant to say Maine was out of the woods yet. There was always a lurking chance that one misstep could turn into an infection and kill the big guy anyway. But, if he woke up, he'd be fine. Mute, but alive. And able to keep fighting.

Maine let out a tortured, pitiful little noise, drawing Wash's eyes down toward him and prompting the blond to place a comforting hand on the wounded soldier's forehead. "It's okay, buddy. You're okay."

"How's he doing?"

Wash looked over his shoulder at the speaker. "... oh, hey."

North said nothing, he simply offered a gently-steaming mug of cocoa to the younger agent. He gave a smile and sipped from the mug he still held when Wash took the offered one and thanked him. From behind North, CT stepped into view, holding her own mug.

"How's his bleeding?"

"Stopped for now, Scarlett's gonna show me how to change his bandages next time they need doing, so that once he's out, because once he's out of Recovery, he'll still be on bedrest, I can take care of his bandages for him and he won't have to be stressing himself out walking all the way down here."

"That's good. Has he woken up at all?"

"No. They've got him doped up pretty good, he's really knocked out." Maine moved again, and Wash put his free hand back on his forehead as he shushed him. "... I guess it's better than him being awake and in pain."

"Yeah. ... you know, you're allowed to leave and go get some sleep, Wash."

"Yeah I'm not going anywhere. I..." Wash bit his tongue, looking down and away. He refocused on Maine and took a drink from the mug. He had enough trouble sleeping when Maine simply wasn't in the room, it'd be downright impossible to sleep while he was worried about him like this. "... I'm not leaving him."

"... I thought you'd say that."

"... besides, if Maine wakes up and sees that needle in his hand, he'll tear everything apart within arms' reach and probably put CT through that window. He..." Wash trailed off, shaking his head a little when he found himself nearly explaining how needles really made his partner and bunkmate feel. "... really can't deal with them."

"That's like South and clowns," North shrugged. He sat down on the edge of the cot beside Maine's, CT settling beside him and pulling her legs up to cross them as she got comfortable. The older blond sipped from his mug again. "... how are _you_ doing?"

"Me? Fine. Never better."

"... we really can keep an eye on him for you. ... if you're tired."

"I'm _not_ tired."

"... has anyone else been by?"

"York and Carolina stopped in for a minute. Pennsylvania and Massachusetts heard about what happened and dropped in, said Jersey would've come up but Jersey's on a mission with Cali."

"I haven't seen Penny and Mass for ages," North beamed. "How're they doing?"

"They're doing alright... oh, the docs even let Wyoming come in for a minute and see how Maine was doing, too. He's looking good, by the way."

"That's good to hear."

"Yeah. You really did a great job taking care of him in the field," Wash complimented, focusing on CT as he spoke. "He said they told him he'd make a full recovery, and he'd do it pretty quick. He's sure he'll be back in action in a few days."

"Good."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a minute, Wash sitting back down and reaching to fix the blanket draped over Maine's unconscious form. He could hear North and CT shifting and moving behind him, drinking from their mugs.

Finally, it was North that broke the silence this time. "I didn't know you had that tattoo."

"Huh?" Wash turned his right arm a little to examine the tattoo that North was talking about. It was a rendering of an orange, black and white calico with yellow-green eyes, drawn and shaded as if it was tearing its way out of Wash's upper arm with its claws. It was one of a few cat tattoos he'd gotten in the course of his life. "Oh, yeah. Got that one on leave while I was still UNSC."

"You've got a few of those, huh?"

"Yeah. Got some pawprints on my hip and a sign language handshape on my wrist. Think I'm due for a new one, so I'm getting something next shore leave. We're supposed to hit a colony world with a few big cities in two or three weeks. If Maine's recovered enough to come with me, he might actually get one."

"... I thought he didn't like needles?"

"Tattoo gun doesn't look like a medical needle, and it doesn't feel like one either. He knows what he wants to get. If we're being honest, though, what he wanted to get, if he wanted me to, I could just do it with a safety pin and some ink, it wouldn't be hard."

"Maybe not do that, if he gets an infection it's probably gonna get you in a lot of trouble."

"Yeah, you're right."

After yet another moment of no one saying anything, North finally sighed. "... y'know, Carolina's real torn up about this."

"Really? I couldn't tell." Wash sighed, finishing his drink and setting the mug down behind him on the edge of the cot that North and CT had settled on. "It's like... she understands that she's supposed to feel sorry, but she doesn't understand that... well, that I don't really wanna hear her apologize. Y'know? She can be sorry all she wants but it feels like she's expecting me to tell her it's okay."

North and CT looked at each other, saying nothing.

"... Like she's acting like I blame her for this, or like I'm mad at her, and I'm not mad at her because Maine got hurt, but I'm getting mad that she won't stop apologizing. She's just... she's not _like this_ and I know I should really be concerned because she's acting this way. But I just keep getting mad because I want her to stop saying she's sorry. Am I the crazy one here?"

"... you did snap at her a little, Wash," North pointed out.

"Okay, yeah, I got a little mad, and I stood up to the Director when he started yelling at her, why wouldn't I just shut up and let her take it if I was mad at her about this?"

"I mean, it'd make sense to step in."

"Not when it means back-talking a CO. Yeah, I was mad about how she was talking, but it's not like she's the one who shot Maine. And yeah, I was angry because she's supposedly such a _perfect solider_ and a _perfect leader_ , and this still happened on her watch, but y'know what? Until she came in and started apologizing again, I was over it. And I'm pretty much still over it. This shit happens in the field. It happens, and when it happens, we just have to deal with it. Getting worked up about it doesn't change anything, it just creates tension that'll come back to bite us the next time we're assigned in a squad together, and I'm not gonna let my feelings be the reason someone else gets hurt."


	4. Chapter 4

After North and CT finally left, apparently fed up with being careful around Wash and watching their words, there were no more visitors. Not even one. He thought that maybe he'd seen another freelancer watching them from the observation window a few times, possibly South or Texas from the height, but he couldn't be sure. Honestly, it might've been a nurse, or his own imagination. He didn't really dwell on it when it happened, he'd simply looked up, then back at Maine almost immediately when he realized there was, visibly, no one there. It occurred to him to ask Scarlett, the nurse that had more or less been tasked exclusively with checking on Maine, if anyone was checking in on them, but he figured she was doing enough for them without his needing to bother her about it.

Scarlett had been the best about this whole thing. She was a friendly young woman with blue eyes, and hair in about three shades of pink, this second thing being something that Wash was sure the Director hated, but didn't detract from her ability to do her job. In fact, Wash would argue that it helped. It made her highly visible, and her choices of pink were bright enough so as to be oddly calming. She seemed to have the ability to remain visibly positive, even genuinely cheerful, even when she was up to her shoulders in blood. She had been a civilian nurse before enlisting in the UNSC. She had been shifted to Project Freelancer when the Director had encountered her on a visit to a military hospital to look for medics. But it was her civilian experience that Wash admired and appreciated immensely: it seemed to afford her a certain extra level of genuine compassion, not just for her patients, but for the uninjured who were stubbornly refusing to leave her patients' sides.

She had very patiently showed Wash how to check Maine's bullet wounds and change his bandages, had explained Maine's injuries in as much detail as possible so that Wash was fully up to speed on what was going on, had explained what the IV in Maine's hand was providing him, the specific fluids and medications, and had even explained why the IV was in his hand, rather than in the vein near his elbow. There had been one in his arm during transport, and during surgery itself, but once his blood pressure had been stabilized and he was settled in the _Mother of Invention_ Recovery bay, it had been a little safer for them to start the IV in his hand. That way, if something happened, he had a seizure or a spasm and damaged the vein in his hand, they could remove the IV and replace it further up his arm, away from the damaged area.

Hours bled together, so much so that he was able to spend an entire twenty-four hours by Maine's side, not leaving and hardly sleeping, before even Scarlett had started to drop hints that he was more than welcome to take a walk. Still, Wash adamantly refused, and Scarlett hadn't pushed him out just yet. That had been hours ago by now, probably. He'd lost track of how many times she had been by since then, and even so, her appearance no longer necessarily marked the beginning of a new hour. It wasn't like there was a legion of wounded soldiers flooding Recovery, so Scarlett and the rest of the medical team had been letting their strict routine slip a little, showing up a little after the hour or a little before, sometimes checking in two or three times in the span of an hour or so.

"Good _evening_ , Agent Washington."

He was dozing off again, fading in and out of awareness of his surroundings, entering his second night of keeping watch over Maine, when the voice startled him. He whipped around in his seat to face the new arrival, breathing out a sigh at the sight of a round-faced man dressed not unlike a yoga instructor, with a serene smile on his face that didn't seem to quite reach his eyes. Once he confirmed that it was another freelancer, and not someone that would make him leave for napping, Wash relaxed.

"... hey, man."

Florida breezed forward, settling himself cross-legged on the cot next to Maine's and placing something that had been in his hands down beside himself. He rested his forearms across his knees. "You missed dinner. Again. And you missed lunch. And breakfast."

"Did I? Whoops."

"Well, it's no problem. In fact, I brought you something in case you were starting to get a little hungry." He picked up the object he'd been holding, which the younger agent could now clearly see was a tray from the mess hall, and held it out to him. "Can't have you wasting away down here, now can we?"

Wash scanned the contents of the tray as he took it and set it down beside Maine on his cot, thinking in the back of his mind that it was probably really unlikely that Florida had put it together for him, at least by himself. There was no way Florida knew for sure what he'd eat: they barely knew each other. If he was being honest, sometimes Florida creeped him out a little. He seemed really nice, but sometimes he seemed... too nice. And the way he was always smiling whenever Wash saw him out of armor...

"Some of the others gave me a few ideas about what you might like, even though this doesn't seem to be nearly enough to keep up with our diet," Florida confirmed. "How's the patient doing?"

"... he could be better. But I mean... he could be a lot worse, I guess. But you get that, right?" Wash looked toward the door to the next Recovery bay, thinking immediately of what North had said, about Wyoming and Florida. He then realized that he wasn't sure if he was supposed to know about what North had said. "I-I mean, you and um... you and Wyoming bunk together. And you eat meals together. I assumed you guys are... close, so... h-how _is_ Wyoming anyway? I saw him for a little but just after they brought Maine in, he looked good. Is he out of Recovery yet?"

"Yes, he is. He's resting very comfortably in our bunk. Agent Wyoming will be _just_ fine," Florida said serenely. "And _yes_ , we're _very_ close. I'm sure _you_ understand what that's like."

"... yeah, I do."

Humming to himself as if confirming a thought, Florida nodded at Maine. "So, he hasn't woken up at all, huh?"

That... was a weird question. They'd stopped the sedative in Maine's IV, just kept the regular painkillers going, but those weren't supposed to keep him under. Maine had opened his eyes a few times since they'd cut him down to just painkillers and fluids, but he'd given no indication that he knew where he was, or what was happening, or even that he was actually conscious. The last time it had happened, Wash had told him to go back to sleep, and he had. But whether that was because he was never even really awake or because he was actively listening to Wash was unclear.

"Not... really. He opened his eyes about an hour ago, but he probably won't remember that. He looked... I just told him to go back to sleep. He looked too confused to really be awake."

"How badly was he injured?"

Wash bit his lip, looking away from Florida. "He took ten bullets to the chest and throat. They didn't hit any organs, but one did crack a rib, and he sustained a lot of blunt force trauma. His collarbone took some damage. Basically all of his ribs are damaged to some degree, most of them are just bruised but three are cracked. And his spine's okay but they're being really careful with him for right now."

"How long until he's free to go?"

"He's gonna be off the duty roster for a little while, but once they're sure his spine's not badly damaged and he's okay to be out of here, he can at least go be miserable in his own bunk like CT and Wyoming. If he recovers as fast as he usually does, he may be good to go on shore leave in a couple weeks with the rest of us, as long as he keeps the stress to a minimum."

"Been taking good care of him?"

"The medical team has. The nurse that checks in on him, she's been showing me how to check his stitches and change his bandages. I'm only good at first aid, so this is all new."

"Well, you are being just an _excellent_ little nurse, Agent Washington. But even excellent little nurses need to keep their strength up. So, maybe you try eating a little bit of your dinner. How does that sound?"

Wash really did appreciate Florida bringing him food, but he was sure that if he tried to eat anything, he'd throw it back up from anxiety. But Florida's tone made Wash immediately feel as if he was being threatened, despite the fact that nothing he said was conventionally threatening. By someone who had no qualms with doing something very unpleasant to ensure that his instructions were followed.

He pulled the tray into his lap, picking at some of the food on it before settling for picking up the roll in the corner. He could see the butter shining on it, and a flutter of excitement actually tried to flicker in his chest when he noticed that it was garlic bread. From the roll, he moved on to the fruit, and finally to the chicken. He took his time with it, finally finishing it and wiping his hand off on his jeans. It occurred to him to maybe be embarrassed that he'd eaten an entire meal with just his hand, but he was too tired to care.

"... thanks, dude. I appreciate it." Wash bit down on the inside of his cheek, then looked up at Florida. "And... thanks... for being so chill. I think North and CT are mad at me right now. And Carolina..."

"Of _course_ , Agent Washington, _you_ are very welcome. I like to see anybody's problem as everybody's problem. It could have happened to anyone. But odds are that he'll probably be alright." Florida rose to his feet, then reached over and patted Wash's arm. "And don't you worry about Agent Carolina. She seemed _much_ more chipper today, I think she's processing this whole thing _quite_ well."

Wash nodded again. "Thanks."

"You're _very_ welcome," Florida said again, turning and starting for the door. About halfway, however, he stopped, prompting Wash to turn over his shoulder when his footsteps stopped. He didn't turn around, but what he said was very clearly meant to be heard. "By the way? I never told North that I thought you were gay. Just that I couldn't _wait_ to see how long it would take you and Maine to figure each other out."

Wash's blood ran cold. Had North told Florida about their conversation? No, why would he? There wasn't anything weird or unusual about... wait, _fuck_ , he'd confessed to liking Maine. Dammit, who else knew now?! North wasn't usually part of all the gossip! What the hell?! Wait, had it been CT? Maybe it had been CT. Maybe it was payback for eating her brownie a couple weeks ago. Wait did CT even talk to Florida? She didn't even know about his crush on Maine, did she?

"Now, don't you worry, your secret's safe with me. One switch-hitter to another. Anyway, I'll be sure to tell Agent Wyoming you were asking after him. I _know_ he'll appreciate it." Florida chuckled. It was a quiet, unsettling sound, downright terrifying compared to any of the laughter that Wash had ever heard from him. "Here, I'll take that tray right back to the mess hall for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Florida is the creepiest man. If there's any typos or inconsistencies, it's because Florida was too creepy for me to edit around.


End file.
